


Please, could you be tender

by allyasavedtheday



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 10x09 fix-it, Added proposal chapter, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Canon Compliant, Communication, Emotional Healing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavedtheday/pseuds/allyasavedtheday
Summary: “Mick, I’m trying to give you space, okay?” Ian tells him then, voice painfully earnest as he leans forward into Mickey’s space. “I’m trying to fix this. I’m trying- I’m trying to get back to that person for you, okay? I just-“Mickey frowns, cutting him off. “What person? What are you talking about?”Ian’s mouth is a tight line and he looks fucking terrified to admit whatever he was going to say. “Who I was before,” he mumbles, looking down. “Before everything- all the shit. I- I’m trying to be good for you again.”Suddenly, he understands what Ian means, mind going back to their fight from the other day.How can you possibly know that all of me, all the fucking versions of who I am- how do you know that’s what you wanna spend the rest of your life with?Mickey releases a breath, steeling himself as he leans forward a little more into Ian’s space. “Ian, I don’t fucking want sixteen year old you. I want younow. The Ian sitting in front of me. Even if he is a giant fucking idiot.”*Mickey and Ian finally talk about everything.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 103
Kudos: 476





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> aksjdfhdjs i just needed them to tALK. about literally everything. look there's a gargantuan amount of things i need them to say to each other and i really, really tried to cover all the bases here but i'm sure i probably forgot stuff so let's just consider this the first talk of many.
> 
> There's a teeny bit of ableism here - mainly in the form of ian's self-doubt, but also a little bit of the Gallagher siblings maybe worrying too much if Ian is okay though this is mainly implied as opposed to outright stated.
> 
> Title: Hard Feelings - Lorde which is a breakup song but this is not a breakup fic!!!!
> 
> Enjoy <3

Ian lies slumped on his side on the couch, one cushion under his broken leg, one cushion clutched tightly to his chest. The TV is on but he doesn’t even know what’s playing; he’s not paying attention. It’s been three days since he last saw Mickey.

Three days.

And he’s trying so hard to give Mickey space and figure out his own fucked up head at the same time. But it’s hard when all he wants to do is wallow in his heartbreak and demolish Debbie’s secret ice-cream stash.

As if reading his mind, his sister suddenly appears in front of him.

“Is this bipolar depressed or sad-about-Mickey depressed?” she asks matter-of-factly and he doesn’t know whether to be offended or amused.

“Sad about Mickey,” he confirms, words half muffled by the cushion.

Debbie nods, not exactly approvingly but something close to it. “In that case, can you watch Franny today? Everyone else is working.”

It’s not ice-cream but taking care of his niece is probably the best thing to make him _not_ feel like a worthless piece of shit. “Sure,” he agrees tiredly.

Debbie smiles, satisfied. “Thanks. Franny, c’mere!” she calls out and Franny immediately comes dashing out of the kitchen. Debbie crouches down and puts her hand on Franny’s shoulder when she stumbles to a stop at the couch. “Franny, Uncle Ian is sad today, can you help cheer him up?”

Franny nods seriously like this is a very important task before climbing up on the couch to give him a hug and Ian has to close his eyes so Debbie doesn’t see that he almost starts fucking crying.

She probably notices anyway because she squeezes Ian’s shoulder as she leaves, telling him, “I’ll back around five,” over her shoulder.

* * *

Mickey is on his break in the food court at the mall when Carl Gallagher drops into the seat opposite him.

Mickey eyes him cautiously as Carl steals one of his fries and greets him with a casual, “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Mickey says after a beat. He waits for Carl to say something but when he doesn’t seem to be following that up with anything else Mickey sighs. “Ian send you?”

Carl shakes his head and Mickey notices the slight downturn of his lips at the mention of his brother. “I don’t think Ian’s doing so good,” Carl admits.

Mickey huffs, throwing his plastic fork down on his tray. “And I’m doing fuckin’ peachy, huh?” He’s seen his own reflection in the mirror the past couple of days. He knows what he looks like – bags under his eyes, lips bitten raw, and just- an ever present look of total defeat on his face. He knows it’s probably visible even to the most casual observer.

“No- I mean like-“ Carl looks like he’s struggling to find the right words and Mickey feels a dawning sense of understanding and dread settle in his stomach.

“You think he’s depressed?” Mickey asks, and just the thought feels like a lead weight dropped on his lap.

Carl shrugs. “I dunno, man, Debbie asked him this morning and he said he was just bummed out about you. Look, you’ve lived with him more than I have recently; I just haven’t seen him like this in a while.”

“I’m not forgiving him just because-“

“I’m not asking you to,” Carl cuts in, hands raised in surrender. He pushes himself to stand then. “It’s just that you were the only one who actually seemed to know what to do before.”

With that, he offers Mickey a half-smile and walks away.

And Mickey wants to scoff at Carl’s estimation. Because Mickey has never had _any_ idea what to do when it comes to Ian. Those few weeks when Ian had been at his lowest had made Mickey feel like he was drowning every fucking day just trying figure out how to help him get better. In the end he’d figured out there was no way to make Ian better. All he could do was lie next to him and wait.

He stares down at his food, unseeing, appetite gone and feeling far too antsy to head back to work. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he stands up; he needs a smoke before he does something stupid like run straight to the Gallaghers’ house.

* * *

Franny reminds Ian of Liam a lot as a little kid and he’s quietly glad for her even temperament. She seems happy enough to sit on the couch, leaning against his side all day while she watches cartoons and it’s the kind of undemanding companionship he thinks he actually needs today. The only time he even gets up off the couch is when fucking _Aladdin_ almost makes him tear up so he goes to make Franny lunch instead.

She falls asleep against him sometime in the afternoon and Debbie’ll probably be pissed he’s messing with her sleep schedule but he can’t really find it in himself to care. He’ll take comfort in whatever form he can get it right now.

For the millionth time in three days he pulls Mickey’s ring – or what was supposed to be Mickey’s ring – out of his pocket and turns it over in his fingers.

He can’t stop thinking about their conversation, about what he can do to fucking fix it.

(And the secret fear that he’s really done it this time. That he _won’t_ be able to fix it.)

Closing his fingers around Mickey’s ring, he lets his head drop back against the back of the couch and lets his eyes fall shut.

He _will_ fix it. But going around in circles and freaking himself out isn’t fucking helping. He just needs to turn his brain off for a while.

* * *

Mickey is a fucking idiot and he knows it. But Carl’s words have been niggling at him all fucking afternoon and his innate concern for Ian drives him toward the Gallagher house so soon as his shift ends. That shit’s hardwired into his heart.

He considers knocking when he gets there before deciding that’s stupid and just opens the door. The house is unusually quiet; when Mickey comes around the corner he finds Debbie lifting a barely-awake Franny into her arms and Ian asleep on the couch.

She nods silently at him when she spots him, shifting Franny more securely in her arms and slipping upstairs without a word.

Mickey takes a second to look at Ian before he does anything. To drink the sight of him in and give into the need and the longing just for a second before he puts his walls back up. Ian’s broken leg is propped up on a cushion on the coffee table and his neck is bent at an awkward angle while he sleeps but Mickey can see the slight furrow between his eyebrows. Like he’s not sleeping peacefully. Like something’s wrong.

As if anything is fucking right right now.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing a sigh, Mickey reaches out with his other hand and gently presses his knuckles against Ian’s shoulder. “Hey. Sleepyface,” he murmurs, far more gently than he means to. “Wake up.”

Ian stirs and Mickey quickly withdraws his hand, standing a safe distance away. Ian blinks, stretching his neck and glancing around him until his eyes land on Mickey. All his sleep-slow movements from before disappear in an instant and he frantically pushes himself to sit up properly. “Mickey! What are you-“

“Will you be fucking careful?” Mickey huffs, watching the way Ian’s leg lolls off the cushion in his haste to sit up. “You’re gonna break your foot next.”

Ian stills, looking up at him with barely concealed hope. “What are you doing here?”

Mickey sighs again and perches on the edge of the coffee table, sure to leave a space between himself and Ian’s leg. “Are you okay?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?” Ian laughs, disbelieving, before abruptly cutting himself off. He seems to understand what Mickey’s actually asking. “Fucking Christ, you mean am I _depressed?”_ he asks, expression souring with betrayal. “Who sent you over here? Debbie? Lip?”

“Carl, actually,” Mickey admits with a half-shrug.

Ian rolls his eyes, playing with something in his hands that Mickey can’t see.

“I’m taking my meds,” he mutters, not meeting Mickey’s gaze.

“I know you are,” Mickey replies calmly and that makes Ian look up.

He lets out another laugh, rueful this time, and Mickey’s stomach clenches when he sees the tears in Ian’s eyes. “Can’t a guy just wallow in his fuckin’ heartbreak in peace for a couple of days? Jesus.”

Mickey has no fucking idea how to navigate this conversation so he just shrugs again.

“Mick, I’m trying to give you space, okay?” Ian tells him then, voice painfully earnest as he leans forward into Mickey’s space. “I’m trying to fix this. I’m trying- I’m trying to get back to that person for you, okay? I just-“

Mickey frowns, cutting him off. “What person? What are you talking about?”

Ian’s mouth is a tight line and he looks fucking terrified to admit whatever he was going to say. “Who I was before,” he mumbles, looking down. “Before everything- all the shit. I- I’m trying to be good for you again.”

Suddenly, he understands what Ian means, mind going back to their fight from the other day.

_How can you possibly know that all of me, all the fucking versions of who I am- how do you know that’s what you wanna spend the rest of your life with?_

Mickey releases a breath, steeling himself as he leans forward a little more into Ian’s space. “Ian, I don’t fucking want sixteen year old you. I want you _now_. The Ian sitting in front of me. Even if he is a giant fucking idiot.”

Ian almost smiles at him but his expression drops again just as quickly. “_Why_ though?” he asks desperately. “Mickey, I’ve hurt you so much-“

“What d’you want me to say Ian?” Mickey bursts out, frustration finally getting the better of him. “You broke my fucking heart. More than once. Is that it? That make you happy?”

Ian squeezes his eyes shut, hands running agitatedly through his hair, before he throws Mickey another beseeching look. “_No_. But that’s the point, isn’t it?” he says resignedly. “I’m so, so sorry for everything, for all of it. But why the fuck would you want to stay with me after that? How the fuck do you think I’m even worth that?”

Mickey is silent for a beat as he digests Ian’s words, feeling a traitorous tremble of his lower lip that he covers with a cough. “You tell me then,” he says softly, meeting Ian’s gaze and feeling the ground shift beneath him. “Why should I still care?”

“You shouldn’t,” Ian whispers and Mickey can’t fucking handle this anymore.

“Jesus, Ian!” he exclaims, standing up in a rush and making Ian lean back in shock. “I _stayed_, alright? I fucking stayed when you flew off the handle and when you got diagnosed and when you couldn’t get out of fucking bed for weeks. I stayed through all of that shit so how the fuck can you turn around now and think that’d make a difference to me? That it’d make me want you any less?”

Ian visibly deflates in front of him and Mickey can’t tell if it’s in relief or despair. “Just- listen to me for a second, okay?” Ian asks, looking at Mickey with too wide eyes, and Mickey clenches his jaw in response before begrudgingly sitting on the couch. Closer but still not touching.

Ian takes a steadying breath and meets Mickey’s gaze. “Mick, I’d literally just gotten diagnosed and I’d already cheated on you, filmed a fucking porno, and took off with your kid. I’d already practically destroyed our relationship in just a few weeks.”

“And I _forgave_ you,” Mickey insists, voice sounding too petulant and too wobbly to be angry.

Ian smiles but his eyes are sad. “But do you get how much that terrifies me? How much the thought of doing shit like that to you over and over kills me? And you just- accepting it? I don’t _want_ to hurt you like that.”

“You’re okay now though,” Mickey mumbles before he can stop himself.

“Mostly,” Ian agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll never have an episode again. And I just- I don’t want that for you.”

Mickey is silent for a moment. He gets it, he thinks. He spent at least the first two years of their relationship thinking Ian was better off without him after all the shit he’d pulled. He could never understand why Ian kept coming back.

Now, he punches Ian’s arm. Gently – so fucking gently Ian probably doesn’t even fucking feel it. “Stop making these decisions for the both of us.”

It’s a plea as much as it’s a demand.

And it seems to stun Ian into silence.

“I’m serious, Ian,” he continues. “Look, I’m sorry for storming off and not letting you explain at the courthouse and for hitting you and all of that. But just- do you get what that looked like to me? It looked like you leaving again.”

“I know,” Ian replies with a watery voice.

“But if you feel like this- if you’ve felt like that before. You fucking tell me and we figure that shit out together. You don’t get to decide how much or how little I should love you.”

Ian raises his hand in an aborted gesture like he’s going to reach out for Mickey before he makes himself drop it again and Mickey finally realises what he’s been hiding in his palm this whole time.

It’s the ring.

Ian sees him looking at it and glances down, holding the ring up between his thumb and forefinger so it’s more visible. “It was supposed to be an engagement ring, you know?” he mumbles and _that_ shocks Mickey.

“It was?”

Ian nods, letting the ring play across his fingers. “Debbie said I should marry you even if we had to get divorced eventually because we’d be happy for a while. Lip said I should marry you when I felt ready.”

Mickey closes his eyes, tries not to feel too disappointed at the words. “You shouldn’t do it for them, Ian.”

“I wasn’t,” Ian denies. Despite his better judgement, Mickey believes him.

And he really doesn’t fucking know if he wants the answer to this question but he finds himself asking it anyway. “What changed then?”

“The thought of you feeling trapped in a marriage with me, putting up with shit you don’t deserve and slowly resenting me as the years went on.”

Ian stares at him, a look in his eyes like he’s begging Mickey to _get it_.

“Mickey, I want to be with you forever,” he continues softly. “I’ve tried not being with you and I fucking hate it, alright? I can’t- I don’t know how the fuck to be in love if it’s not with you. But it also fucking terrifies me that I’ll hurt with you without even meaning to.” Ian lets out a bitter exhale and shakes his head. “Fuck knows I already have.”

Mickey swallows hard, feels the untamed, uncontrollable love for Ian that lives in his chest cavity rear its head. “How ‘bout we make a deal then?”

Ian blinks and Mickey can see the hope is back in his eyes. Just a bit.

“I tell you if I can’t handle this and you tell me if you feel scared.”

“That could work,” Ian whispers, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah I fuckin’ know it could,” Mickey huffs, making Ian laugh. It’s thick with tears and it’s the best sound Mickey’s ever heard.

Ian raises his hand then, settling his palm against Mickey’s cheek and pressing their foreheads together. “I really fucking love you,” he murmurs and Mickey feels himself return to centre at the words. Fear and anxiety receding to be replaced with something more solid, more sure. “And I promise I’m going to make this up to you.”

He wants to say Ian doesn’t have to, that he’s over it, but he feels like it wouldn’t be entirely true. Instead he says, “Y’know eventually we’re gonna have to stop blaming each other for shit? I hurt you first, you hurt me second. Let’s just stop tryna fucking hurt each other.”

Ian huffs a laugh, thumb dragging softly across Mickey’s cheek. “I’m good with that.”

“You gonna kiss me now, tough guy? Or do I have to ask you to do that too?”

Ian’s grin is fucking blinding and the last thing Mickey sees before Ian’s is crushing their lips together. But as soon as their mouths meet all the urgency dissolves out of them and it’s just soft and slow and _familiar_.

And this is how he knows Ian’s it for him. How he knows no one else could ever fucking compare. Because Mickey’s never felt comfortable in his whole life, in his own skin, like he has in the moments when Ian’s kissed him.

Even when it scared him half to death it was still there – that undercurrent of comfort that told him this is okay. This is what he can have if he just _lets himself_ have it.

The way Ian sighs into him makes him think Ian might be feeling the same thing.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry, I probably had you in a death grip, huh?” he says sheepishly. He knows he clings to Mickey when he’s asleep. Years of them only ever sharing a single bed had kind of made it a necessity before – now, Ian just doesn’t really feel like letting go.
> 
> “Nah, man, you know I don’t mind,” Mickey replies and his voice sounds so fucking soft Ian honestly thinks he’s about to suffocate from feeling too much. Because it’s been years but Mickey’s voice still goes impossibly bashful whenever he admits to Ian doing something he likes and Ian is helpless not to give him whatever he wants when he sounds like that.
> 
> Though really, Ian is helpless to give him whatever he wants most of the time.
> 
> He thinks about the engagement rings sitting against each other on his bedside table and feels his stomach swoop, arms inadvertently tightening around Mickey again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People wanted a proposal so i wrote a proposal askjdhfa
> 
> listen, i 100% understand this isn't how it's gonna go down in the show but i wanted to write something that i felt fit the first part of this fic and that fit _them_, y'know? so have some quiet moments that still hopefully feel like the grandest of gestures :')
> 
> either way, i hope you like it!! <3

Ian wakes to the feel of Mickey, whole and solid, in his arms.

Fuck, he can’t believe he almost lost him for good this time.

Snuggling closer against Mickey’s back, he buries his face in the nape of Mickey’s neck and tightens his hold around him. The sheets had been starting to lose Mickey’s scent the past couple of days – Ian’s not embarrassed to say he went to sleep with one of Mickey’s shirts the other night.

Mickey’s fingers trail over his forearm and Ian shifts a little to try and see over his shoulder. “You been awake long?” he asks, voice still heavy with sleep as he smudges a kiss against Mickey’s shoulder.

“Coulda been a few minutes, coulda been an hour,” Mickey mumbles. “I wasn’t keeping track.”

And Ian can _hear_ the smile in his voice and it’s so much he has to hide his own smile against Mickey’s shoulder. Fuck, he _missed_ him.

“Sorry, I probably had you in a death grip, huh?” he says sheepishly. He knows he clings to Mickey when he’s asleep. Years of them only ever sharing a single bed had kind of made it a necessity before – now, Ian just doesn’t really feel like letting go.

“Nah, man, you know I don’t mind,” Mickey replies and his voice sounds so fucking soft Ian honestly thinks he’s about to suffocate from feeling too much. Because it’s been years but Mickey’s voice still goes impossibly bashful whenever he admits to Ian doing something he likes and Ian is helpless not to give him whatever he wants when he sounds like that.

Though really, Ian is helpless to give him whatever he wants most of the time.

He thinks about the engagement rings sitting against each other on his bedside table and feels his stomach swoop, arms inadvertently tightening around Mickey again.

Mickey shifts in his arms then, twisting around so he’s facing Ian, nose to nose. Ian lasts approximately three seconds before he’s leaning in to capture Mickey’s lips in a kiss.

“Mm morning,” he murmurs, not entirely prepared for the serene look in Mickey’s eyes when he pulls back. (He knows his own expression probably looks the same though.)

Mickey huffs a laugh, one hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair back off Ian’s forehead before proceeding to tousle his hair and completely messing it up like the contradictory piece of shit Ian fell in love with. “Mornin’, Gallagher.”

And Ian can’t not kiss him again – he’s hardly stopped kissing him since they made up last night. He draws their lips together, slow and soft, and he still doesn’t understand how kissing Mickey both settles him _and_ causes butterflies to erupt in his stomach at the same time.

“This feels like the first time you let me kiss you,” Ian tells him, watching for a second the way Mickey’s eyebrow quirk before he continues. “I’m not talking about the kiss in the van – though that was something!” he adds with a teasing grin that has the desired effect of making Mickey roll his eyes in way that’s way too fond to be annoyed.

Ian knows his annoyed eye-rolls – he prides himself every time he’s not on the receiving end of one.

“I mean after,” Ian carries on quietly, mouth ticking up at the memory. “When you’d been all patched up and were camped out on my couch and everyone else had either gone home or gone to bed. And you let me kiss you goodnight and then you let me kiss you again and you let me keep kissing you and we stayed up ‘til fuck knows what time just kissing.” Ian grins, huffing a self-deprecating laugh. “I was so happy, felt like I won the fuckin’ lottery.”

Mickey stares at him with a mildly dumbstruck expression for a moment before he scoffs. “How much longer you plan on bein’ sappy as shit, huh?”

“Oh a week, at least,” Ian jokes, beaming when he’s met with yet another eyeroll, breaking into a laugh when Mickey wrestles him onto his back and climbs on top of him.

“Stop fucking smiling at me,” he says into Ian’s mouth, words half blurred.

“Stop fucking making me smile then,” Ian counters, hands coming up to cradle Mickey’s face to guide the kiss.

The last thing he hears is a muttered, “I’ll give you something to fuckin’ smile about,” before Mickey slowly starts making his way down Ian’s body.

He’s smiling for a_ long_ time that morning.

* * *

Mickey is not fucking panicking, he’s _not_.

Who gives a shit if Ian’s a few minutes late? It’s not like they had anything big planned – it was just supposed to be them and a six pack of beers at the dugouts, y’know, for old time’s sake. Feed the nostalgia or whatever the fuck.

It’s not like it’s an actual _date_; they’re just hanging out. Away from home because there’s too many fucking Gallaghers there even with Lip living in an RV out front. It’s not like it matters that Ian’s seventeen fucking minutes late. He’s probably just taking longer because he’s only got one functioning leg and not texting back because- because he probably can’t text and use crutches at the same time, his one still-functioning brain cell reminds him.

Mickey pauses in his irritated pacing, huffing out a breath and shaking his head. He needs to calm the fuck down. They’ve been back together two days – things aren’t gonna go to shit this quickly.

It’s another minute or two of marching up and down their spot before he finally hears the tell-tale sound of Ian’s crutches pressing into the dirt.

He starts talking before he even whirls around to face Ian, feeling ridiculously relieved and also mildly pissed off. “Finally! What the fuck took you so-“

The words die in his throat once he turns around.

Because there Ian is. Down on one knee, ring in hand, and a stupidly soft smile on his face.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmurs and Mickey has the strangest moment of déjà vu, feeling transported back to a different night, years ago, when he was the one saying those words to Ian.

“What are you-“ he starts to say but stops, too fucking scared and too fucking hopeful to really ask the question.

“I wanna marry you,” Ian tells him, quiet but sure. “And it’s not because anyone said I should or so we don’t have to lie to a fucking court or anything like that. I wanna marry you because- because I really wanna fucking be where you are.” He pauses for a second and his smile makes Mickey’s fucking heart trip over in his chest. “And I like how you smell and I like kissing you and god- I feel fucking normal with you. I feel safe and comfortable and just- _better_.

“And I’m not saying I’m not scared anymore because I am. But I also wasn’t lying when I said I trust you.” Ian levels him with a look of utmost sincerity and Mickey swallows hard. “Okay? I trust you, Mickey and I trust that you want to stay and I trust that you’ll tell me if things get too much and- and I trust myself to tell you if I’m struggling,” he adds, eyes flicking down for the briefest moment like he’s still too embarrassed to admit to something like that happening.

But then he’s looking up at Mickey again with renewed determination. “I love you. So will you please marry me?” His gaze is painfully earnest for a moment before he lets out a half-laugh. “And will you please answer soon because if I keep kneeling any longer my leg is literally gonna fuckin’ split in two.”

Mickey lets out a shocked laugh, shaking his head before he immediately starts nodding instead. “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Ian asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” Mickey confirms, hurrying forward to reach for Ian. “Get up.” He helps Ian to stand and barely waits until he’s upright before he’s crushing their lips together and pulling Ian into him.

Ian’s arms come around him and he releases a shaky breath into Mickey’s mouth and Mickey is 100% sure his hands are trembling right now where they’re clutched in the back of Ian’s jacket but he can’t fucking care. He can’t even fucking speak.

He’d wanted Ian to do something. In truth, he himself hadn’t even really known what. But this was-this is more than he could’ve expected and exactly what he’d needed.

“Let me put the ring on you,” Ian murmurs against his mouth, pulling away with a breathless smile and leaning his weight against Mickey as he picks up Mickey’s left hand. He carefully slips the ring onto Mickey’s hand, locking their fingers together when he’s done and pressing his forehead against Mickey’s.

“Where’s yours?” Mickey asks, finally finding his voice after spending a moment too long marvelling at their hands.

Ian’s other hand disappears into his pocket to retrieve his own ring and Mickey snatches it off him in an instant, catching Ian’s hand in his and carefully placing the ring on his finger.

“Wear it ‘round your neck again and I’ll fucking kill you,” he warns him and Ian barks out a laugh, pulling him into a hug and pressing his face into the crook of Mickey’s neck.

“Promise I won’t,” Ian tells him, kissing his neck for good measure before straightening up again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Mickey replies, for once not caring at the way his voice catches. He takes a steadying breath, watching Ian do the same, and lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Jesus, let’s fucking celebrate – you think your leg can handle it?” he asks, eyebrows raised and a suggestive smirk on his face.

Ian licks his lips, eyes quickly darting between Mickey’s eyes and Mickey’s mouth. “Think I can manage,” he grins.

Mickey needs no further encouragement before he’s kissing the smile off Ian’s face and stumbling them back towards the chain link fence.

He and his _fiancé_ need to celebrate.

*

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i really wanted to put a proposal in this fic but it didn't feel appropriate in the final scene. so if you want a part 2 with a proposal let me know!!!
> 
> Other than that, I hoped you liked it :') if you're looking for me, you can find me at [littlespooneven](http://littlespooneven.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


End file.
